About Damn Time
by SevLovesLily
Summary: Germany and Italy admit their feelings for each other. But who does it first? One-shot, so not much else to say without spoiling a lot. Obviously GerIta, rated T for a bit of non-explicit sexual stuff.


**This is my first Hetalia fic, so of course I had to make it about my OTP... I _would_ write an ongoing one rather than a one-shot, but I already have an ongoing story that takes up too much time. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the story!**

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"You… you do the strangest things," said Germany quietly, staring across the couch at Italy, who was smiling in a very annoyingly beautiful way. Like he always was. Well, it wasn't really _across _the couch, because he had been only been able to push Italy _so_ far away after he had come straight up to him while he was reading and sat in his lap before offering him a bowl of pasta.

He wanted to be angry, but at the most Germany was simply annoyed at his friend's lack of sense of personal space. Ever since they had formed an alliance, Italy had been visiting so often that he might as well have just _lived_ in his house, and he had never seemed to think that perhaps Germany didn't _want_ to be constantly hugged or sat upon. Not that he minded it so much anymore (or even at all)—but you'd think a country as old as Italy would at least consider the fact that he _might_ mind, or maybe even ask.

After having set down his book and grudgingly accepted the pasta (he was hungry, and it had been a long day of cleaning his house), Germany had practically picked Italy up by the waist and set him a little further down the couch. While any normal person, personification of a country or otherwise, might have been put off by his apparent grumpiness and lack of gratitude (but for his small "Thank you"), Italy knew that getting him to such a point where he didn't flip out at the slightest physical contact was a _huge_ accomplishment.

And so he was also confused, which had led to what he'd just told Italy. His annoyance and slight frustration (some of which was perpetual for him and had nothing to do with his friend) was expressed in the way he pressed three fingers to the side of his head, sighed, and stared at Italy through a sort of side-glare. But that turned soft as he let his hand fall to take the bowl of pasta back from the coffee table and set it in his lap.

"You are very annoying sometimes, and you do things that seem foolish and I have no idea why you would do them," he continued bluntly, though still quietly. As he narrowed his eyes, he realized that he had never said something quite like this before…. He'd just never thought to. Italy was silent and still smiling, and Germany's right hand was absentmindedly twisting pasta around the fork. "But there are also several things you do that are still annoying, but I like it… and I have no idea why, either."

It should have felt weird to say something like that—especially for him, for he had never been in any sort of friendship before Italy, and so he had never felt the need to share his… feelings. Or thoughts, or whatever you wanted to call them. But he didn't feel weird, for a reason he also had no idea of—but he supposed it just felt like thinking out loud. Like saying the thoughts that had only allowed themselves to even _become_ thoughts about of ten seconds ago.

Italy's wide smile faded, creating a brief pang of disappointment in Germany's stomach, but that was quickly replaced with a smaller, closed-mouth smile. He hurried back over to invade Germany's personal bubble by taking a few steps on his knees, and then he wrapped his arms around the larger country's left one, which he was currently using to keep the bowl of pasta steady on his lap.

Slightly surprised, he stiffened—but that was actually mostly because he was uncomfortable like this. And _that_ was mostly because any physical contact with Italy made him want to sigh in pleasure, but he didn't know why. He didn't like not knowing why. And he didn't like feeling any sort of dependency on another country, either.

But he didn't push him away again. Germany just stared at Italy's face, which was now very close because he was resting his chin on Germany's shoulder. And he was smiling widely again, making the larger one's heart skip a beat, his eyes shut as tight as ever.

"I think that's called love, Germany," he said cheerfully—though it wasn't his usual sort of cheerfulness. It wasn't a shamelessly loud and flamboyant shout, like the way he always said "PASTAAA!" so enthusiastically. It was actually soft, and it sounded like he was actually trying _not_ to be obnoxious. And, weirdest of all, he sounded serious.

Not that Germany had much room in his mind to notice this, since he was too busy thinking of what Italy had just said—of the _word_ he had used. It was only then that he realized he was having an _actual _conversation with his friend and that they were _actually_ doing this.

Was _that_ what it was, though?—the jealously he felt every time Italy flirted with pretty girls, the uncontrollable hitch in his breath whenever Italy hugged him or sat on him, the warm flush in his chest that happened when Italy smiled…? He didn't like to think of it for too long, especially not while looking at _that face_…. It just stirred up too many feelings.

"I wouldn't know," said Germany, briefly closing his eyes before looking away and down to his bowl of pasta, then lifting a forkful of it to his mouth. He could feel Italy's breath on the side of his face like a very light breeze and Italy's arms still wrapped around his—which forced his left hand, now gripping the couch, to practically be between the smaller country's legs. But he tried not to think about that. "I have never felt love before."

"Oh, I don't think that's true!" Italy hugged his arm more tightly—and though Germany wasn't looking at him, he knew that he was smiling very widely now. "You love dogs and wurst and potatoes and cleaning…."

Germany frowned. Swallowing a mouthful of pasta, he said, "Those do not count. They are not the type of love you are talking about—yes, I love wurst und potatoes, but not to the extreme that you love pasta. Not as deeply as I love… you." Huh. Maybe he did, then.

He had not meant to say it; he had not even known that he was thinking it. But he knew it was true the moment the words had slipped out of his mouth. Looking over at Italy, he saw that he actually looked slightly surprised, but also considerably happier.

"Really?" he said, his voice small and quieter than usual. Less annoying, too. Actually quite… sweet. It didn't seem so much that Italy was surprised by Germany's feelings as he was that Germany had admitted them.

"I…" It was Germany's turn to be surprised—but only slightly. He may have already said it, but repeating it would push him deeper into this. Because this time he'll have said it on purpose. "Yes, really." He paused to take a stabilizing breath and to watch Italy's face grow more expressive with joy. "Ich liebe dich."

"Ti amo," he practically giggled in response. "I love you too, Germany!" It seemed to be very easy for Italy to say that to him—very casual, like it was no big revelation. And really, it wasn't.

It was also very easy for Italy to remove his arms from Germany's left arm and instead wrap them around his neck, closing the short distance between their faces before there was even time for him to react. At first, the larger country was unable to process the fact that their lips were smashed together—but a couple seconds later he was moving the bowl of pasta from his lap to the coffee table and sliding his left hand up Italy's back and entangling it in his hair and pulling him closer.

He was honestly surprised that Italy had initiated it, but very glad nonetheless. The feeling that this kiss was giving him was pure bliss—electric, sinful bliss, which he had never felt or even wanted to feel before. Germany could not believe this was happening at all, but at the same time he couldn't believe it had taken this long.

And he was especially glad that he didn't have to fight off or be confused about any of the feelings he had anymore. He didn't have to lie to himself—Italy's lips just felt so _good_ under his, and his tongue felt so _good_ inside his mouth, and his body felt so _good_ pressed against his. Even with all of their clothes on.

Without realizing it at first, they were soon both lying long-ways on the couch, with Germany on the bottom and his hands roaming everywhere they could reach on Italy's back and head and… ass. With the first unintentional soft squeeze of his bottom, Italy moaned softly into his mouth, and Germany felt small hands sliding down his sides to grab his hips and pull him upward.

"Mmm… Italy…" whispered Germany, breaking the kiss for the first time since it had begun. He let his eyes drift open very slightly to see that his friend (though he assumed they were more than that, now) was blushing profusely, but also that his eyes were very slightly open as well. It was a beautiful sight… it wasn't often he got to see those eyes, since Italy almost never opened them. And Italy's face wasn't the only place his blood was rushing….

Just the feeling of their groins pressed together and their chests rising and falling quickly against each other in their ragged breathing was pure ecstasy. Compared to anything Germany had ever felt before, anyway.

Before he could pull Italy's face back down to his, however, there was an extremely obnoxious noise coming from the door.

"Ha! Well, it's about damn time!"

Prussia's overly-loud voice startled Italy greatly, causing him to let out a yelp of shock—and he might have fallen off of the couch if Germany's arms hadn't automatically tightened protectively around him. They both snapped their heads over to the doorway, where Prussia was standing and grinning madly. Germany glared daggers at him, hating his brother more than anything at the moment, but he didn't seem to notice.

"I _knew_ it wouldn't take too long, though," said Prussia with his usual arrogance, folding his arms. "Und hey—this means I won the bet! Austria thought it would be at least another two months…. Well, after all, I knew I would win—_because I am awesome Prussia!_ Now, I guess I'll leave you two to… um, _do it_. I've got to go tell Austria he's lost und collect my money!"

With that, Germany's brother left, slamming the door as he did. The fact that he and Austria had made a bet about when Germany and Italy were going to hook up made them both a bit uncomfortable.

"Damn mood killer…," muttered Germany, frowning. "I… I don't want to stop, though…."

"Neither do I…." _Gott_, Italy's voice in that tone was much too arousing. "Just… pretend he never showed up…."

That, he could do. Italy lowered his face to Germany's again and this time kissed him slowly and carefully, gradually resuming the passion they had had before. It wasn't too long before layers of clothes started coming off, and, not wanting to risk another interruption, Germany carried Italy back to his bedroom.

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**Please review and tell me what you think! :D**


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